


love without sacrifice

by beanierose



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Canon Compliant, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, Movie Night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-17 19:31:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16980453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beanierose/pseuds/beanierose
Summary: Set after 4x04 "Girls Night." David tries to learn how to compromise. Patrick just wants to make out.





	love without sacrifice

_Love without sacrifice is like theft._  
**Nassim Nicholas Taleb, _The Bed of Procrustes: Philosophical and Practical Aphorisms_**

* * *

 

In the last couple of weeks, it has finally started to dawn on Ray just what’s going on. They haven’t been shy about it, not really. Any semblance of professionalism that Patrick tries to muster is immediately and thoroughly dismantled by David.

“I don’t ever want to stop touching you,” he had said once, and Patrick had pinned him to the wall with the solid press of his body.

Still, the lack of privacy means David can’t tug Patrick down on top of him and stuff his hand down his pants. Not as often as he’d like anyway. It had taken Ray coming unannounced into Patrick’s room with a stray sock he’d found in the laundry basket, turning a rich shade of red and stumbling straight back out again for him to realise what was going on under his roof.

They had braced themselves for Ray to kick Patrick out, or at the very least ban David from coming over. Instead, he had developed a mysterious new hobby that had him out of the house Tuesday and Thursday nights from seven till nine.

“I still think he’s just sitting in his car,” Patrick says.

David is not particularly interested. His open mouth is at Patrick’s neck, the tip of his tongue darting out to touch the salt and the heat and the _him_ of his skin.

“Don’t care.”

Patrick fists his hand in David’s hair and tugs, earning himself a grunt for that because really? Not the hair. He studies David’s face intently for long enough that it makes him squirm.

“Yes you do.”

“Okay, fine. It’s. . .nice.”

That earns him a smile, Patrick’s whole face warm and open. He knows what it means to his boyfriend when he lets down his brash exterior. His _boyfriend_. He can’t believe he said that, especially in front of Stevie. In front of Patrick, actually. He hadn’t thought he was ready, but it came spilling out of him and there it was between them, something loud and crackling.

David lays back on the couch, both hands fisted in Patrick’s shirt collar to draw him down too. It still feels new to be with him like this, and David’s breathlessness is not entirely because of Patrick’s weight on top of him. He laces his arms around Patrick’s neck to keep him in place as he kisses him. Even as his tongue sweeps hot and commanding through Patrick’s mouth, David’s fingers card through the hair at his nape, trace the shell of his ear.

Their kiss grows richer, more searching, and at the nip of teeth to his bottom lip Patrick’s hips drive sharply down against David’s.

“Oh-” he gasps at the cool intrusion of David’s fingers inside of his waistband, but David is already swallowing his surprise. He pulls back just a little, enough to breathe hotly against Patrick’s jaw.

As much as he loves necking on Ray’s couch - and he really, _really_ does love it - he has plans for tonight. A point to make, and he only hopes it isn’t too late. He gentles Patrick with the closed mouth press of his lips, lingering despite himself.

David is wrecked by how much he adores him.

He distracts himself with searching for the remote. They’ve knocked it off the couch in their haste to get their hands on each other’s bare skin, and now it has disappeared underneath. David leans over, sure that this angle is entirely unattractive. He can only hope that his attentions have distracted Patrick enough not to notice.

“Oh my God, ew,” he says when he resurfaces. The remote has come back with several years’ worth of dust stuck to the buttons. David wrinkles his nose and passes it over to Patrick to deal with. “Ew, ew, ew. Ew.”

“Wow, thanks so much.” Patrick arches a brow at David. Once he’s done cleaning off the remote he goes to hand it back to David, who shakes his head and chews the inside of his cheek so as not to crack open on a grin.

“It’s your turn.”

Patrick clicks to turn the television on. The sports channel is loud and bright and disgusting, and David hides his face against Patrick’s shoulder and paws at his thigh until he hits mute.

In the quiet, Patrick kisses the crown of David’s head. “What are my choices?”

“No choices,” David shakes his head, unable to stop the smile from unraveling the corner of his mouth. He does his best to hide it from Patrick, but David knows he can definitely feel it through his dress shirt. “You pick.”

Surprise makes Patrick’s mouth open, he feels it against the crown of his head. David pulls back to see for sure and can’t help himself, leaning in to steal another kiss. He means it to be fleeting, but desire still beats insistently low down in his guts and so he stays a while.

“It’s okay, David. I know you’re a control freak. I figured that one out after about ten minutes of knowing you. It doesn’t matter to me that you like things a certain way.”

It’s sweet, and maybe it’s even true. But Patrick is so patient and steady and deserves something better than this.

“I do like things the way I like them. But. . .” he takes a breath to steel himself. “I like you more.”

It comes out like a tease, but Patrick is too awed to volley it back to him.

“You do?” he whispers.

It’s very easy to forget when faced with Patrick’s so-collected veneer, but David isn’t the only one on uneven ground here. Not the only one for whom every single day is blissfully, startlingly unchartered.

“I do. So. Pick a movie.”

“No,” Patrick says loudly. Before David can question him he is already lunging close and pressing his mouth clumsily to David’s. The kiss sparks something that David hasn’t felt from Patrick yet.

Last week, he had called him a baby gay. In jest, of course, because most things he says are. Only, Patrick had sulked and blushed. It had taken several long minutes of very selfless attention for David to help Patrick forget that one. He hadn’t meant to be unkind. It’s just true. Everything they do is the first time for Patrick, and David is trying very hard to be mindful of that.

 _Whatever you’re ready for_ , he keeps telling Patrick. He never stopped to consider that maybe he’s the one who isn’t ready.

“You know, you’re not being very receptive to my incredibly gallant and generous offer.”

Patrick has one hand inside of David’s sweater, splayed flat against his stomach. He must feel the rolling tumult inside, but he is kind enough not to say anything.

“Are you sure you want to give me free rein here, David?”

This sweet man. There’s nothing calculated in it at all. Patrick tilts his head in question, his face smooth. David is learning from him, slowly, how to be still. He’s always been animated, strung tight with frantic energy that means he fidgets. Lying on his back in bed with Patrick’s arm slung over his waist, David has finally begun to allow himself to rest.

“I trust your judgement. Mostly.”

“Uh-huh.”

Patrick looks skeptical, but he does at least untangle himself from on top of David and sit up straight. Often, David laments that Patrick keeps his hair short. It doesn’t get so rumpled and goofy looking like David’s does. He pushes it back from his forehead with both hands. Not that it matters. Patrick has seen him in worse disarray than this.

Once he feels a little more put together, David clears his throat. “This is important to me. I want us to be equals. And I care about you too much to let my control freak-ness ruin this.”

He’s told Patrick before how much he respects him, but every single time feels like an act of enormous courage.

“You’re not going to ruin this,” Patrick blurts out immediately, automatically. Only afterwards seeming to realise just how much he means it. His face grows resolute, the set of his jaw sending a wash of affection through David. “Just calm down. It’s a movie, David.”

“It’s not, though. It’s everything, if I had my way. So don’t let me have my way.”

“Can _I_ have my way with you?”

“Obviously.” David’s mouth twists nervously. He’s been getting much better, but this grand gesture he’s trying to offer is making him feel off-kilter. “But- after.”

The pout that Patrick puts on is mostly for show. Mostly. He hopes. It’s something ingrained in David that means most things feel cataclysmic. If Patrick doesn’t pick a movie for them he is quite sure he will die. David leans back against the couch cushion and folds his hands together, presses them tight between his knees.

It frees him up to study Patrick while he studies their options. He keeps sneaking these little glances at David from the corner of his eye as if for approval. Doesn’t he know? David approves of everything Patrick does, even if it is directly in contradiction with his aesthetic direction.

“What about this?” Patrick gestures towards the television screen with the remote. He has _The Devil Wears Prada_ pulled up.

“I want you to pick whatever you want to watch. Not what you think I want to watch.”

“I liked that movie,” he insists.

“Patrick.”

“Fine.” He goes back to searching. David is very pointedly not looking at the television. He doesn’t want to accidentally betray any of his emotions towards Patrick’s choices. He’s sure they will be visceral and deeply felt, and he is determined not to influence his boyfriend in this one small thing.

Eventually, after an eternity, Patrick picks something. He presses play without waiting for David’s reaction, so at least the message is starting to get through.

“Sandra Bullock,” David gasps when the movie’s opening voiceover starts.

“A sports movie.” Patrick sets the remote aside. “Compromise, David.”

Patrick is a lot better at it than David is. He’s known that for quite some time now. Still, it surprises him constantly just how selfless his boyfriend is. _The Blind Side_ really is their ideal compromise. Patrick gets to talk about the true life details of the movie and a bunch of sports statistics, and David gets to ruminate over whether he prefers Sandra Bullock as a blonde or a brunette.

On their way to Ray’s tonight they had stopped at the motel because David can’t possibly go another night without his entire arsenal of skincare products. One of his favourite parts of his day is standing at the vanity going through his whole routine and Patrick, leaning in the bathroom doorway, watching him so tenderly. He has even managed to get a mini routine going for Patrick, too. No more washing his face with shower gel, thank God.

While they were at the motel, David had grabbed a blanket and some snacks he’d been saving. Patrick had been called in to the other room to _talk business_ with David’s dad. Patient, sweet man that he is, he’s always happy to be a sounding board for ideas about the motel. Usually David finds his father’s monopolisation of his boyfriend deeply irritating, but tonight he was glad for the distraction.

It meant he was able to also pack pyjamas and fresh clothes for tomorrow. They haven’t been able to be spontaneous, because any alone time takes careful planning and also because spontaneity unnerves David to his core. That doesn’t mean though that he can’t _plan_ to surprise Patrick.

The noise that Patrick makes when David gets up is so needy and aghast that he has to turn away quickly so his face won’t betray him. When he comes back with the blanket he gets a grin, the pleased tilt of Patrick’s head making him look like a kid again.

It takes a bit of manoeuvring, some elbows in ribcages, to get to a position where they are both comfortable and can also see the television screen. Patrick lands with his head on David’s chest and David hooks an arm around his shoulders to keep him there. He might be the taller of the two of them, but it’s not very often that he gets to feel macho.

He is so distracted by the movie that it takes him a second to notice how Patrick has turned his face in close and is breathing deeply.

“Did you just _smell me_?”

“Yep,” Patrick says happily. He wiggles beneath the blanket to get it back over his toes and David lies very still, closing his eyes for a beat.

“Well. Alright then.”

“You smell good,” Patrick says, as if it’s perfectly normal to sniff your boyfriend. David supposes it might be. He’s never really had one before. Not a relationship where he’d be comfortable putting a label on things. Not something exclusive and exclusively wonderful.

They lapse into silence, then. David hates people talking during movies. Actually, he hates most people talking at all. He is of course endlessly interested in anything Patrick might have to say, but thankfully on this they agree. Patrick does throw in the occasional fun sports fact, but he waits for a pause in the movie’s dialogue to do so.

About an hour in, David finds himself beginning to doze. He’s seen this movie before, and as much as he loves Sandra Bullock he loves more the feeling of falling asleep with Patrick tucked in close at his side. He doesn’t even realise that he’s sleeping until the credits start to roll and the music jolts him awake.

“Hey,” Patrick says softly. In the light of the television screen his cheeks are glistening.

“Don’t cry. It’s a happy ending.”

“Happy tears.” Patrick swipes at his cheeks and sniffs. It’s cute. David is too sardonic to think of many things as cute, but this sweet soft man gets him every time. “I’m not sure it counts as compromise if you go to sleep instead of watching my movie choice.”

He kisses Patrick, even though his neck is at an awkward angle and his mouth tastes dry. It doesn’t seem to bother Patrick, who rolls onto his stomach and props himself up on an elbow. Leaning down over David like this, his face all shadowy in the half-light, he looks so sincere. They kiss lazily for a while, enjoying their alone time. Ray will be home very soon, though.

“We should go. I don’t have the energy for Ray’s stories tonight.”

“Are you staying?”

Only a couple of months ago, the idea of David staying the night almost ended them before they began. Now, Patrick’s face is alight with possibility. There’s no pressure, they both know that, but they also know that sleeping together even when they’re not _sleeping together_ makes them happy. Patrick makes David happy, giddy actually in a way he’s never really felt before.

“Yeah. If you’ll have me.”

“Thanks. For letting me pick the movie.”

Patrick’s thumb is resting at the swell of David’s bottom lip and it is entirely distracting, but this is important.

“I want you to pick stuff. I want us to. . .” he casts a glance around the room in search of just the right words. Patrick’s better at it than him, which is endlessly frustrating when he feels so much and just can’t articulate it. “The only thing I won’t compromise on is being your boyfriend.”

“Me neither, David. So there’s no hurry. We’ll just build everything else around that.”

Right as David arches to kiss Patrick again, Ray’s car pulls into the driveway. The crunch of gravel and the arc of headlights makes them both freeze in place for half a second, and then the adrenaline kicks in. They scramble off the couch and run up the stairs, breathless and laughing. Patrick clutches David’s hand tight in his and yanks him into the bedroom, slamming the door closed with the press of his body into David’s.

“Shh,” he pleads into David’s neck, and David fists both hands in Patrick’s shirt at either side of his waist.

They stay like that, silent and wide-eyed, until they hear Ray’s bedroom door close. By now, they’re adept at communicating without sound when they’re up here. There’s a thrill to it, but it also feels so completely comfortable. David can tell just from the widening of Patrick’s eyes exactly what he needs, what he thinks.

He’s never felt so in tune with another person before.

“I’m really happy to be your boyfriend, David.” It comes quietly into the textured darkness, a small brave voice.

There’s so much he could say. Huge things, things he’s not sure he will ever feel truly ready to actually say to another person. So instead-

“Goodnight, Patrick.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hello on Twitter, I'm @reallybeanie


End file.
